


Roman Holiday

by damnfancyscotch



Series: Whimsy & Confusion [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Happy Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: And we know that we’re headstrongAnd our heart’s goneAnd the timing’s never rightBut for now let’s get awayOn a Roman holiday- Halsey





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm addicted to Halsey, ofc, so I wrote a story with one of her songs. I've got like six more, but that's not important...
> 
> Enjoy!

“You can’t do this!” Lydia shouts, hands shaking where they’re clenched into fists by her side.

Her father’s eyebrows drawn down into a displeased line. “I won’t hear another word, young lady. My decision is final. You’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Lydia stares at her father and pulls every bit of hatred and loathing and frustration deep _deep_ inside her, balling it up until she’s certain that she’s totally and completely blank.

“Who will be my escort?” she asks with utter calm.

“One of the local Hunters will be with you for the duration of your trip.” Her father says, totally unruffled by her flip in personality. He picks up a folded newspaper, shaking it out and skimming his eyes over the print. “That’s all. You may be excused.”

She looks at her mother but the woman’s head is bowed as she focuses on the novel on her lap. Always silent, always sorry, always _useless_.

Lydia takes the dismissal for what it is and turns on her heel, leaving the room and shutting the door softly behind her.

Only once she’s in the safety of her bedroom does she let herself break. She slumps onto the bed, shoulders shaking as tears stream down her face. She presses her hand to her mouth to hold in the sobs that threaten to claw from her throat.

It’s the only time she’ll cry about this, she vows, as she lets herself fully succumb to the panic and fear and sorrow.

Tomorrow, she’ll be ice, she’ll be steel, she’ll show nothing.

But tonight… tonight she’ll let out everything that’s eating her alive.

She falls asleep feeling washed out and numb and so completely and utterly lost.

\-----

The next morning, the sky is overcast with dark gray clouds. They roil as lightning flashes far away and, if Lydia were the romantic type, she’d say that the weather is showing all the emotions that she can’t and won’t.

She casts her eyes over the front drive, taking in the staff packing her suitcase into the trunk and another leaning into the town car, presumably speaking to whichever Argent will be escorting her.

Her father draws her attention, informing her, “You’ll make a fine wife.” He looks _so_ _goddamn_ _proud_ of himself.

She nods and tips her chin up when he leans forward and places a chaste kiss against her cheek.

Her mother, at least, smooths a hand over her hair, cupping her cheek. “Call us when you arrive. I love you.”

She nods, replying perfectly evenly, “I will.” She turns without replying to the second part of her mother’s statement.

Her purse bumps against her hip as she moves down the stairs to the town car idling there. A driver moves smoothly to open the door for her and she nods at him, sliding gracefully into the seat and placing her purse on her lap as the door shuts.

A soft voice says, “Hello, Ms. Martin.”

It breaks through the icy wall she’s built up. She turns to her left and sees Allison Argent sitting there, dressed fully in black with her hair in a braid over one shoulder. She looks sleek, glamorous, and dangerous.

It’s the soft smile, though, that makes a small knife of pain bloom in her stomach.

Ever aware that a driver always hears and sees more than people think, Lydia merely nods courteously before looking out the window, even though her heart is pounding.

But, really, Allison’s always had that effect on her.

\-----

The first time she meets Allison, Lydia is fifteen. She forgets to breathe when Chris Argent turns and gestures for his daughter to draw closer.

“This is my daughter, Allison. She’ll be taking over our territory one day,” Chris says with no small amount of pride.

Lydia’s father huffs, likely intrigued that a woman would lead a group of Hunters, but merely nods politely, like Lydia’s mother.

“Hello,” Lydia finds herself saying, though she hasn’t been addressed, and she knows better. She can’t help it.

The small smile she gets from the brunette girl is worth her father’s displeased frown.

“Hi. You’re Lydia, right?” Allison asks, voice light and lovely.

Lydia nods once. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says as politely as she can.

“You too.” Allison studies for a moment longer before dropping her eyes respectfully.

“Perhaps the young ladies would like to chat elsewhere,” Lydia’s mother laughs, putting a small palm on her husband’s arm. “All this grown up talk must be terribly boring.” She wrinkles her nose delicately, ever the charming host.

“Very well. Lydia, you may be excused.”

She drops a small curtsy and inclines her head toward the garden that’s visible through the open French doors. “Would you like to see our gardens? The flowers have started blooming recently.” And god, she sounds so stupid. So vapid and empty. What must this Hunter girl think of her?

Allison smiles and nods, sharing a small look with her father. “That sounds lovely.”

They walk out the door and into the sunlight. Lydia takes a deep breath, immediately feeling better out of the presence of so many small-minded, conniving people. She walks into the garden, taking turns without looking at her guest, sure that Allison will follow.

She plops down onto a bench, near the middle of the garden, and lets out a heavy sigh. She peers up at Allison, who’s studying a bloom of nightshade, and ventures, “I daresay my father is actually a psychic vampire.”

“And what would cause you to suspect such a thing?” Allison asks lightly, though there’s the slightest spark of mischievous amusement in her warm brown eyes.

“No one knows better how to suck the joy out of a room faster than him,” Lydia announces with a grin.

Allison narrows her eyes as a smile grows on her face. She ducks her chin then looks back up at Lydia from under her lashes.

And Lydia is finished, just like that. She’s ruined for anyone else.

\-----

They become fast friends.

Whenever Allison’s family is in town for business, she and Lydia spend time together. They watch movies and laugh over ridiculous things. They are the best of friends and they learn everything there is to know about one another.

Like how Lydia wants to know everything she can, her vast thirst for knowledge yet to be quenched, and how Allison doesn't want to be tied to the same place forever, to be unable to travel. She smiles shyly at Lydia when she says this and Lydia quells the flipping feeling in her stomach.

Lydia’s abilities manifest on her sixteenth birthday.

One moment, she’s smiling around at her party guests, the next, she’s barefoot and filthy in the woods behind the manor, being led back by two servants.

When she’s brought to the study, her father eyes her like a prized pony. “Magic,” he proclaims gladly and it’s the first moment she’s ever seen her mother look afraid, “wonderful news.”

After that, things remain mostly the same, but they withdraw her from school, having lessons at home on how to best serve as a magic user. She has several teachers: the quiet Deaton, the slightly deranged Jennifer, the softly-smiling Morrell. They all instruct her on how to serve, how to make herself useful.

None of them ask her if she wants to learn these things, but that’s what it means to be a rich man’s chattel.

The only person to treat her as if she’s the same is Allison, who appears just as sporadically as she always does.

She looks at Lydia, taking her hand softly, and says, “You’re my best friend. I’m not concerned with what you can do.” The light in her eyes brightens and she leans close, whispering, “Let’s sneak into the city pool.”

“Why?” Lydia asks, confused. There’s a perfectly serviceable pool just yards from them, next to her father’s tennis courts.

Allison shrugs. “Why not?”

And, like always, Lydia follows her without further question, even though she’s terrified as they break into the building and dive into the water in their bras and underwear.

It’s freezing, mid-December and they’re so stupid but it feels like the best night of Lydia’s life.

Allison leaves again. Things go on.

But every time the Hunter reappears, it’s like she’s never left. They spend lazy afternoons together, speaking lowly about dreams and what life would be like if neither of them were who they were.

The night of her seventeenth birthday, they kiss for the first time. Lydia is nervous, her heart in her throat as Allison presses close to her, setting her every nerve alight.

The Hunter leans back, whispering softly, “Is this okay?”

Lydia nods, cupping a hand around the back of her neck, feeling the heavy weight of Allison’s dark hair, and reels them together again.

Allison leaves at first light with a lingering kiss and a whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”

Lydia retreats to the woods and reclines in the hammock, staring at the swaying canopy above her, still able to feel Allison’s skin on hers.

In that moment, as the birds sweep overhead and chitter at one another, she vows to feel free like this forever.

And yet, now, here she is, barely six months later, sold off to the Alpha of the Hale Pack because of her abilities, destined to be his bride and to be shackled forever.

She feels the idea of that free feeling slipping from her fingers the farther from home she gets.

\-----

They stop for food around noon, in a downtown area with small streets lined with restaurants.

“Reconvene in twenty,” Allison tells the driver.

The man nods and slips off into the lunch time crowd.

Lydia makes her way to a coffee shop, aware of Allison just steps behind her. The Hunter is silent as Lydia places her order and pays, moving to the side so the next person can order. She accepts her coffee with a smile and breathes in the aroma, a small comfort.

Allison taps her fingers against the counter. “We should ditch him.”

“What?” She turns, trying not to crush her coffee cup in surprise.

“Think about it, Lyds,” she leans closer, whispering, “if this is the last bit of freedom you’ll ever have, do you really want to spend it in the back of that stuffy town car?”

She shakes her head, suddenly feeling breathless. “No.”

“Then come on.” Allison holds out her hand. “I’ve got an idea.”

It’s the easiest decision in the world to put her hand in Allison’s and let the Hunter lead her out to the car. Allison squeezes her hand before releasing it and popping the trunk.

“Here.” She hands Lydia a book bag. “Grab your stuff. I’ll text my dad and tell him there’s been a security breach and we have to go rogue for a couple of days.”

“Ally…” Lydia puts her hand on Allison’s arm. “Thank you.”

Allison smiles, all sweet dimples and white teeth. “Of course. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Lydia nods, because she does know, and unzips her suitcase. She stuffs the book bag as full as she can with the essentials, though there’s not much else in the suitcase.

Peter Hale hadn’t wanted her to bring much since he’d be providing everything for her new life, after all.

Lydia slams the trunk and allows Allison to take her hand again.

They get a taxi to a restaurant and then walk a couple of blocks to a safe house. When they round the corner behind a Chinese restaurant, a tall man is leaning against a small SUV and tapping at a phone.

The man smiles, slipping his phone into his pocket. He holds out a pair of keys. “Your chariot awaits.”

Allison leans forward, hugging him hard. “Thanks.”

The man pats her shoulder, glancing at Lydia. “That her?”

Allison snatches the keys and narrows her eyes at him. “Shut up.”

The man smiles and holds up his hands. “Fine. Be careful. Call if you need something.”

“Got it.” Allison unlocks the SUV and climbs in, Lydia following after.

“Who was that?” Lydia asks as she buckles her seat belt.

“A friend of the family. Don't worry about it."

Lydia hums and looks out the window, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

\-----

According to the clock on the dashboard when she opens her eyes, they’ve been driving for nearly eight hours. She rubs her face and looks over at Allison’s sleeping face.

The Hunter’s eyelids flicker open moments later, narrowing. “Creeper.”

Lydia laughs, pulling her feet up onto the seat. “Where are we?”

“State park,” Allison mumbles, patting at her hair. “Thought it was better than a hotel, for the first day.”

“Probably right.” Lydia looks around. She can hear birds and she longs to go out into the woods, eyes a creek that looks perfect for exploring.

Allison, with her keen sense for all things _Lydia_ , asks, “Wanna go play in the creek?”

Lydia smiles and nods.

They end up soaking wet with pruny fingers and covered in mud and it's _glorious._

They spend the next few days driving and eating at diners and staying in random motels. The first night, they sleep in separate beds, but the second night, the room only has one bed and they sleep curled up next to each other, like they did on Lydia’s birthday.

Lydia wakes up to Allison smiling sleepily at her in the early light, features glowing and soft-edged. It’s less than a thought for her to lean forward and press their mouths together, to breathe in Allison’s shampoo and press her hand against the curve of her neck.

After that, they share small kisses every chance they get and hold hands, take pictures and laugh, sing along to music on the radio and talk like they always do.

It’s the best few days of her life, even though she’s probably got a permanent crick in her neck from sleeping in the car and she’s never eaten so much junk food in her life. She’s happy and it feels like they could drive forever... if they wanted to.

The only problem is that it feels like she’s falling more and more in love with the girl next to her. But she pushes the thought away, determined to enjoy her last holiday before it all comes to an end.

On the fifth day, Lydia wakes up to the sound of waves. She sits up, Allison’s jacket falling off her shoulders, and looks around. Sure enough, she’s staring at the ocean. She can see Allison’s silhouette as she paces, speaking rapidly into her phone as she gestures in the air.

Lydia’s never been to California before, but she bets she’s there now.

They spend the day at the beach, sun and salt water tightening their skin and leaving Allison golden and glowing while it makes Lydia gently pink on the crest of her shoulders.

That night, they stop at another state park when they get into Northern California.

It starts raining as they maneuver the seats down and they laugh as they get pelted with fat drops of water, shuffling quickly into the car and rustling around to spread out sleeping bags that they picked up twenty miles South.

When they get everything settled, Lydia looks over and feels stricken by Allison’s beauty, the way the Hunter’s dark hair is heavy with water as she brushes it from her brow with a smile. She leans forward and kisses her, hard, heart pounding like always.

Allison groans and pulls her closer, cold fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt. “I just want to touch you, Lyds, I…”

Lydia nods, pressing kisses to Allison’s collarbones. “I’m yours, Ally, all yours, anything you want.”

Lydia loses all sense of time and self as they tangle together, hands everywhere and panting breaths and clothing lost to the mess of blankets.

Later, Lydia sits with her arm around her knees, staring out at the rainy night.

“What is it?” Allison asks from the darkness.

“I can’t lose you,” she confides softly as rain pelts the roof of the car, creating a soft humming world that is made up of just the two of them.

“We’ve got a little more time,” Allison replies evenly.

“We’re already three days behind schedule,” Lydia sighs, letting Allison pull her closer until she’s situated between the Hunter’s hips with her chest pressed to Allison’s stomach.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Allison murmurs, smoothing the small hairs back from Lydia’s forehead.

She ignores the lie as tears prick at her eyes. She closes her eyes and whispers, “He’ll never let me keep you.”

Allison doesn’t reply, simply slides her fingers deeper into Lydia’s hair, scratching gently at her scalp.

Lydia drifts, content to rest her cheek below Allison’s collarbones, head rising and falling with Allison’s breaths. She closes her eyes and pretends, for just a little while, that this is what her life will be like forever.

\-----

There’s a small park right inside of the city line, just past the sign that welcomes them to Beacon Hills. Allison pulls into the parking lot and turns the car off.

“I love you,” Lydia blurts before she can stop herself. She looks at Allison’s face, rakes her eyes over the curve of her lips and the thickness of her lashes. “I just… you should know.”

Allison smiles slowly, sadly. “I’ve always known, Lyds.” She leans forward, cupping Lydia’s cheek, and presses a firm kiss to her mouth. “I love you too.”

Lydia nods, fighting to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Allison runs her thumb over Lydia’s bottom lip, kissing her once more, before pulling back. “Come on.” She climbs out of the car.

Lydia follows, shutting her door and looking around. There’s a small pond, a boat in the middle as two people fish, and a playground for kids, but not much else.

“You’re late.”

They both turn, Allison stepping in front of her.

Lydia regards the guy in front of them. Lean and pale, with messy brown hair and big brown eyes, mouth a crooked curl of amusement. His hands are shoved into the pockets of a striped hoodie and his shirt has some sort of cartoon character on it.

“ _Three_ _days_ late.” He inclines his head with a slight smile. “I’m Stiles, Emissary to the Hale Pack.”

 _Bullshit_ , Lydia thinks, but Allison nods with a small smile. “Hi, Stiles.” She gestures to Lydia. “This is Lydia.”

“Hey Ally.” The Emissary runs his eyes over both of them, one of his eyes flickering with blue light for a moment before going back to honeyed brown. He makes an intrigued sound, rocking back on his heels.

The strangeness of it has her forgetting to ask how the two of them know each other, numbly watching as Allison hands Stiles her book bag. When the Hunter turns to her, she mumbles, “Ally, I…”

Allison nods, reaching out one last time and cupping her cheek. “Goodbye, Lyds.”

“Bye,” Lydia breathes, watching as Allison gets into the SUV and pulls away.

She takes a deep breath and turns, giving Stiles a hard look where he stands with a placid expression. He turns and indicates a black Camaro that’s parked near a small building. “Shall we?”

She doesn’t respond, just starts walking, head held high, and hears a small laugh before Stiles is drawing even with her and unlocking the car. They get in and Stiles drives further into Beacon Hills, in the opposite direction that Allison went.

“I know that the last thing you want to hear is that it’ll be okay,” Stiles says softly after a few minutes of silence. “But it will be. Our pack isn’t what you think.”

She narrows her eyes at the Emissary, taking in the scarred bite mark where his neck and shoulder meet. “I’m sure you’re saying that as a completely impartial party.”

He huffs another small laugh, eyes still on the road. “I’m just suggesting that you wait until you meet everyone before making any assumptions.”

Lydia states coldly, “I’m quite eager to meet my future husband.”

She doesn’t miss the way Stiles’ mouth twitches and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. There’s no more friendly tone in his voice when he replies, “Don’t be.” His eye flickers again, fully black this time.

Fear slithers slickly up her spine. She looks out the window, clenching her hands into fists in her lap.

An hour later, Lydia stands next to a bed in a grandly appointed bedroom and understands what Stiles meant in the car.

Peter Hale’s skin is ashen and he pants softly, his eyes flicking back and forth along the ceiling, but whatever he’s seeing is only clear to him. His fingers are tipped with claws and he flexes his hands in the bedsheets, tearing into them and twisting.

She looks over at Stiles, seeing the impassive look on his face as he stares at the Alpha. “What’s wrong with him?”

His eyes rise to hers and the dead flatness of his gaze makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “He’s reaping what he’s sown.”

She swallows, her throat dry. “What does that mean?”

“He got cursed by a witch,” Stiles waves a long-fingered hand at the Alpha, “to experience every bit of pain he ever inflicted on another being.”

It’s a powerful spell, but… “Couldn’t you break the curse?”

He makes a curious sound. “Probably.”

“Then why won’t you?”

“Do you want to marry him?” he asks.

It seems a bit random to her, but she answers honestly, “No.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I don’t want to heal him.”

“And you can do that? Just not heal your Alpha?”

“When he’s damaged the pack bonds as badly as he has, treated everyone as poorly as he has, then yes.” He smiles sweetly at her. “But also, he’s not _actually_ the boss of me, despite what people believe about Alphas and Emissaries.”

She studies him and feels a smile pulling at her mouth. “So what now?”

“Now, you and I decide how you’d like to move forward.” Stiles puts his hands back in his pockets. “Do you want to go back to your parents?”

She shakes her head. “They’d just trade me off again.”

His eyes narrow. “Hm. Likely true.” He smiles. “You could still stay with us.”

There's a vast unknown there, having only met Stiles, not having any clue what the rest of the pack is like, but, she has a feeling that she can trust him. “How?”

“Well, we’ve bought you fair and square. You're ours now, regardless.” His smile turns into a mischievous grin. “And I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

She smiles back and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

Stiles jerks his head and they leave the room that smells of sickness and death behind.

He brings her into a library that stretches two floors, lit with skylights and globes of floating glass orbs holding multicolored flames. He directs her to a large armchair sitting across from a desk strewn with all sorts of interesting papers and books.

“Excuse the mess.” Stiles shoves a light-globe out of the way and leans back against the desk. “Tea?”

She nods, settling in the armchair. “Please.”

Stiles snaps his fingers and a table appears between them, a fully stocked tea tray on it. He gestures for her to proceed then crosses his arms over his chest. “How would you like to help us with a treaty issue we’ve been having?”

She stirs sugar into her tea, tapping the spoon on the rim of the cup before placing it on the saucer. She leans back, pulling her feet up underneath her. “Tell me more.”

\-----

_Two Weeks Later_

“I assure you, Mr. Martin,” Stiles smiles, “that your daughter is good hands with our pack.”

“We are sorry for your pack's loss," Mr. Martin offers emptily. Stiles resists the urge to rolls his eyes. "I trust your new Alpha is satisfied with the transaction?”

Stiles’ face remains pleasant, but he clenches his hands into fists under the table. What a fucking jackass. “He certainly is. There will be no need for a refund.”

“Fantastic.” The man looks pleased. “When will the wedding be?”

Stiles enjoys the fuck out of saying, “Oh, there won’t be a wedding, Mr. Martin.”

The man’s eyebrows draw down. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that we have utilized your daughter in another way.”

“You can’t do that! That’s not what we agreed upon,” he shouts.

Stiles puts his chin on his hand and smiles. “Actually, we can. As our property, we’re free to do with her as we like. As our current Alpha is uninterested in her as a bride, we’ve decided to put her to better use in a different way.”

“And what way is that?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve used for a treaty with the local Hunters.”

“Look here, you little warlock, the Martin name is one that demands respect. I will not be had by you and your ridiculous nonsense!”

“I am a Spark, Mr. Martin, not a warlock.” Stiles lets his eyes flash with flames, voice crackling with heat when he growls, “And I’m the Emissary for the Hale Pack. Do not think that your miserable whining about names will convince me that you’ve been wronged. The girl is _ours_ now. That is all. You bartered her away for a pittance, as far as I’m concerned, but I never say nay to a good deal.”

He stares at the man’s pale face for a long moment, waiting for him to say something.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll end up reaping what you’ve sown.” He lets the flames fall back and blows a puff of smoke at the camera. “I believe this conversation is over. Have a good day, Mr. Martin. Send my regards to your wife.” He gives one last smile before he exits the call and closes his laptop.

“You wouldn’t really have cursed him, right?” Lydia asks from what’s become her armchair.

“Pshh, no.” Stiles stretches his arms over his head, trying to get the tension out of his muscles from the unpleasant interaction. “It’s not worth the karmic damage but I have to say, I’d be interested to see what would happen to him.”

“Sadist,” Lydia says with a smile.

“I am what I am,” he says happily. “Now,” he claps, “are you ready to be a bargaining chip that settles hundreds of years of fighting?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

\-----

The meeting is long, filled with tension.

Deaton presides between Chris and Derek, as a neutral third party, and he gives a nod to Lydia in recognition.

Lydia senses, even after only knowing the Spark for a few days, that Stiles usually gets his way on things and he’s firm on what he expects from the treaty.

After the big proclamation, the others start talking details and, at a small nod from Derek, Lydia and Allison slip off into the backyard of the house, sitting next to each other near the pool in the setting sun.

“Does it still hurt?” Allison asks, reaching up and tracing her fingers along the edge of Lydia’s bandage that’s bared by her strapless dress.

She smiles. “A little.” But she’s okay with that.

The pain was sharp, as Stiles used one of Peter’s claws to trace the triskelion above her left shoulder blade, but clean, in a way. Being marked as a member of the pack, by the Alpha, before his inevitable death.

And really, she’s happy here, with Stiles and Derek, newly the Alpha, and the rest of their pack. She likes Erica and Boyd, Isaac and Scott, Cora and Danny and Malia and Kira. They’re all kind and funny and they like her, welcomed her into their happy chaos immediately and without question.

“Hm.” Allison presses a small kiss against the bandage, then another against her shoulder, moving around and kissing her collarbone.

Lydia grabs her hand, feeling the need to apologize. “I’m sorry.”

Allison looks up at her, a confused look on her face. “For what?”

“For tying you here.” Lydia looks off into the nature preserve that makes up a large part of the Hale territory. “I know you like to move around.”

“Lyds.” Allison gently grabs her chin, directs her gaze into the Hunter’s face. “I only ever took those jobs to be close to you.” She lets that set in before adding, “Plus, didn’t you hear Stiles? Argent territory _is_ Hale territory, it has been for years. This is where I was always going to end up, eventually.”

Lydia fights the hope that’s pressing at her chest, still feeling like it’s just too good to be true. “So you’ll stay now, tie yourself here, for me? That’s okay with you?”

Allison smiles at her, so reminiscent of the first time they saw one another, and says simply, “For me, it’s always been about you.”

Lydia smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss against her lips.

Then she laughs at the catcalls and howls that her pack set up from the back door.

She flips them off and keeps kissing Allison, perfectly content and feeling freer than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!!!
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


End file.
